


The Jumper Affair –  or the one time Illya realized how Gaby felt in that boutique

by tannne



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Bickering, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tannne/pseuds/tannne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya needs to look the part for their next mission, so Napoleon and Gaby drag him shopping. Illya laments his fate of how he got there and commisserates with Gaby. Napoleon has the time of his life playing dress up with Illya. Waverly tries to keep everyone on track and Gaby simply enjoys the show.</p>
<p>*Author's note: I edited some spelling and grammar, otherwise nothing has changed.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jumper Affair –  or the one time Illya realized how Gaby felt in that boutique

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cbomb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cbomb/gifts).



Illya knew he was gritting his teeth and he suspected, nyet, knew his current facial expression was anything but casual interest, if Gaby’s chortling was any indication on how much his self-control was slipping. It wasn’t that Napoleon didn’t have a certain sense – fine, being honest – an excellent taste of style. No, what grated on his nerves – his pride – was, that Napoleon seemed to enjoy himself so thoroughly in treating him like dress up doll, a – what had Gaby called him earlier? Ah yes a – _Ken_!

Gaby was another matter altogether, telling him completely straight faced he deserved to experience how this felt because of how Napoleon and he had treated her like a Barbie doll – stupid western beauty ideals, utterly unrealistic to boot – and not like a person on their very first mission together – which had been more than ten years ago. Not that he was counting how long ago he had met Napoleon, no that would be absolutely ridiculous and a waste of time – 12 years, 10 months and 23 days. Illya rolled his eyes at his psyche’s antics. Apparently he was completely ridiculous, but he had always been rather fond of Napoleon, from the moment they had first met – well, peeved, too, yes – but mainly fond of this interesting being that could – yes, peeve him so much but also – challenge him like no one else he had ever met.

However, at this very moment, annoyance outweighed any positive feelings he might have had for his partner. Illya didn’t begrudge Napoleon his pleasures; he liked seeing his partner radiating happiness. What had invoked Illya’s ire was the reason for Napoleons behavior. He treated him like a, a piece of meat – _arm candy_ , chirped Gaby’s voice in the back of his mind, always so helpfully – like Illya didn’t have an opinion about what kind of clothes he should wear. Nyet, that wasn’t quite right. Such behavior would insinuate that his partner – most likely because of a lacking competence concerning social interactions and people in general – wasn’t aware that Illya had an opinion and preferences. No, the character Napoleon was already channeling for this mission was perfectly aware other people had emotions and opinions. He simply didn’t care for them because, obviously, they couldn’t be more important than his own needs and therefore didn’t need to be considered. Which was the reason why Illya was being clad in one outfit after another which this character of Napoleon’s imagination might deem appropriate for Illya.

While Napoleon told him to twirl – twirl! – like one of those ballerinas he liked to watch so much in the theatre, Illya thought back to the mission briefing they had received earlier in the morning by Waverly before this fashion odyssey had started – he wasn’t overly dramatic, no matter what Napoleon, Gabby and Waverly insisted, thank you very much.

 A group of rich men, who prided themselves on their fine tastes of everything desirable, their intelligence and good looks, had conspired to steal several paintings of minor importance over the last year, apparently because life was boring otherwise. Their plans had been executed rather clumsily which was another reason why they weren’t a high priority of any organization. Until two days ago, when one of their heists went wrong and instead of some painting the group now had a crate with radioactive material. Instead of running the other way upon realizing that there had been some mix-up with their informant they decided to take the crate with them, because they deserved something, if they couldn’t have their painting. And if this something was radioactive material, so what? It was still something special to someone and unique in a deadly kind of way which made it quite interesting… At least that appeared to be the consensus.

However, this morning the corpse of their informant had been found floating in a harbor. Apparently the original buyer of said deadly material wasn’t too fond of being given the wrong hand-over coordinates and had his mind made up to get it back with any means necessary. For now, the FBI had managed to keep the lid on the dead informant so as not to induce a state of panic among those foolish thieves. This would work only for so long. Rather sooner than later the original buyer would come knocking on their doors. By then the radioactive material needed to be far away and law enforcement in position to deal with said buyer, who had a much higher international profile than the thieving wannabes.

And it was Napoleon’s and Illya’s part to infiltrate this exclusive society and spirit the radioactive material away. Gaby wouldn’t be of much use in this mission, since one thing these men prided themselves in was their excellent taste in beautiful men as companions. Which meant Napoleon had to play the airheaded high society art buff and Illya his, well arm candy.

This naturally meant  looking the part they had to play. Which left them here, at this tailor cum men’s cloth boutique since his partner apparently had already suitable clothes for his role. Napoleon was looking him up and down critically, before walking slowly around him.

“Gaby, be a dear and tell me what you think of this shirt. It’s ghastly, isn’t it? Right cut, obviously, but this color. It is so boring, not accentuating his beauty at all.” Not giving her any time to answer his question, Napoleon turned back to Illya and stroked soothingly from his shoulder down to his wrist, as if he might be offended about being told he looked boring, before he stalked to the rack sporting a selection of shirts and addressed Illya this time. “A nice forest green will emphasis your looks so much better, don’t you worry.”

And once Illya was completely honest with himself and accepted the kind of person he was going to pretend to be in the near future, he had to acknowledge his cover identity was the kind of person who would care about these things, considering his livelihood was dependant on keeping Napoleon interested in him. So a bored Napoleon who might dump him was the furthest thing he should desire. And he would start to act his part, any moment now – just not yet.

Napoleon had just selected a shirt “It will look rather exquisite on you and goes very well with those dark blue slacks and belt we already selected. Now, how about a couple of jumpers?” when Waverly strolled into this strange mix between tailor and boutique.

“Well, how are you both settling in?” Waverly eagerly rubbed his hands together as if he truly expected one of them to answer his question. When it became apparently that nobody would answer, his excitement only seemed to grow. Slowly, Waverly wandered over to Gaby and took a seat next to her. “Ah, yes, yes. This is exactly what I had hoped to witness when I managed to clear my schedule for the next two hours!”

Napoleon, who had ignored Waverly completely to instead peruse the selection of jumpers, now returned with two jumpers thrown over his arm. Because of this, Ilya hadn’t noticed the color of the second jumper until Napoleon was holding it up in front of him, switching between the first and second one as if unable to decide which one to prefer. It wasn’t a difficult decision, in Illya’s humble mind. The first one was wine red, the other a solid pink. “What do you think, sir? Red or pink? I do believe the pink one would lend him a certain crisp touch, don’t you?”

Before Waverly could formulate a reply, Illya decided he needed to intervene. “I will not wear such a frivolous color, Napoleon.” His partner blinked dumbfounded at him for a moment, then decided to opt for a direct approach instead of carefully crafting his response.

“You do realize that you’re supposed to be, well, frivolous, right? As in, you’re putting up with my shit because you like to spend my money, like me to spend my money on you and have fun in me doing so?”

“Nyet. I’m not a frivolous or high-spirited person by nature. I wouldn’t be able to act like one now either. But you don’t need such a person as your partner. Your role is a man who wants to be entertained and fascinated by his partner without building a deep relationship. Your partner is Russian. Russians aren’t frivolous. So, instead I’ll behave like our great authors: I will brood, reject most of your frivolous actions and drink vodka.”

“How would that make you interesting to Napoleon’s undercover identity?” Waverly was clearly baffled, while Napoleon looked at him intrigued.

“Simple. We are attracted to mysterious things. Things we don’t understand fascinate us. Americans have joie the vivre. Russians have depressions. Napoleon won’t be used to anyone scorning his offers and not falling over themselves to exploit him, instead only grudgingly accepting his gifts. This would make me a quirk to him, resulting in him trying to understand why I wouldn’t want those things and how he could interest me in those, before I undoubtedly would lose my novelty and be discarded for someone else.”

After considering his explanation for a moment, Waverly nodded once, then held up his hand in the typical ‘but’-gesture. “All very good reasons, Kuryakin. However, even then Solo wouldn’t put up with a paramour who wouldn’t deign to look upon him favorably, let alone interested. So, by all means, brood and be pessimistic all you want, but do so while pretending to be pessimistically in love with Solo because you know the both of you are star-crossed lovers or because you’re more invested in your relationship than him. But start looking like you’re love struck instead of looking like you’re brooding up ways how to best drown your rich boyfriend and get his money. Stop with the growling and glowering already. Be glad you get this opportunity to practice, for heaven sake!”

Illya sighed. He knew Waverly was right. He needed to change his attitude. His difficulty lay in how much to change it, how much to stop pretending this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he desired from Napoleon – had desired for years, even if he only admitted it to himself. A relationship with Napoleon Solo.  As if sensing the direction his thoughts were turning to, Napoleon stepped up close to him and stroked slowly over his chest.

“Don’t worry, my sweetly brooding boy-toy, I know exactly what you need to get you out of your depression.” Focusing on a section in the back of the store, Napoleon started to make his way over to it. Halfway there he looked over his shoulder, gaze holding Illya’s. “I think I have seen some lovely red lace panties earlier, which will make you forget everything else as soon as you get your hands on them.” Based on Napoleons mirthful expression as well as Gaby’s muffled laughter and startled coughing fit from Waverly, Illya concluded he his face might be as red as said panties. Oh, he was doomed, just like those great Russian authors and their heroes – no, he wasn’t being fatalistic, this was Russian rationalism in its purest form, thank you very much. Chyort voz’mi!


End file.
